


Keep Calm (and Carry On)

by knightinbrightfeathers



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Anxiety Disorder, Genderfluid Character, Headaches & Migraines, I'm putting anything I can that seems triggering up here, Lucinda/Lucas, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, Veteran's Administration, anxiety medication, or maybe 4+1 things, since this is not a fun chapter, va, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:50:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At some point, Baz makes a list of things that calm Simon the fuck down.<br/>It's going to be a pretty short list, but at least it's effective. <br/>(This fic has been discontinued.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How a life can move from the darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This will not update at my usual pace. More like once a week. Stay tuned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed up the horrible format glitches and changed the chapter title, so no, you're not crazy. I just hate uploading from my tablet.

Calm was not a word Baz associated with Simon. Cheerful, yes- at least sometimes; optimistic, or often so tired that he didn't even make those endearing "nammngh" noises while trying to get comfortable. Open minded, determined... But Simon had never been a calm person. More often, as time went on, he had days when he was twitchy and every small thing could cause a decline in mood that lasted too long, and worsened as Simon insisted that he was perfectly fine, Crowley bless it, Baz, I'm not a little kid.  
Thank Maskelyne for the stream of doctors and practitioners that came flooding in from all over the country after the battle at Watford, surgeons and old-fashioned village healers and one solemn looking pellar, accent thick and comforting. Thank Crowley or God or anyone who might listen ( and how many nights had Baz spent praying, sending pleas out to the sky please anyone help them help me help us?) for the med student who found him with Simon's head in his lap, voice gone from the backlash of the magic spells he'd spoken. She'd called for help and checked him over with a flashlight, keeping up a steady litany of small talk.  
When the sound of people scrambling through the wreckage got close, she slipped him a card. "It's for both of you," she said. "He might not want it, but he'll need it. I know how soldiers are."  
"Not soldiers," Baz whispered, voice partly restored with a good strong "enough with the mumbling" from her penny whistle (she'd smiled along with him at her funny instrument).  
"This," she said, looking around, "is a battlefield. Don't strain your voice, it'll only make it worse." Someone 'hallo'ed a short way off. "Over here!" She turned back to him. "Please, just... consider it? It could do you a lot of good. It helped me."  
And then the evac team found them, and Baz found himself swept away into bright neon and checked for so many things his head blurred and somehow ending up sitting in a wheelchair outside Simon's hospital room with Penelope Bunce. Her arm was in a cast and her face full of tiny scratches. Along with the freckles, it made her look like a battleground.  
"He's going to be all right," she kept murmuring. "They said you were with him? What happened?"  
Baz shrugged and frowned apologetically, holding a hand to his throat.  
"Well, that's a change," Penelope said, and jumped when he nudged her and grinned. "Should we get you a notepad, then? Or are you going to act like a loon for the next week or so?"  
Baz held up six fingers.  
"Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Years?"  
Baz raised an eyebrow. "Days," he mouthed.  
Penelope nodded and looked down at her lap. "You don't have to talk about it," she said, clearly broadcasting and I'm not ready to hear, not yet, not tonight. "Whenever you feel ready."  
Her words and the obvious care behind her tone, even though they'd never been that close, what with his habit of keeping out of Simon's way, put him to mind of the card the med student had given him. He was still in his own uniform, grimy and wrinkled as it was. It took a bit of maneuvering but he managed to get it out and show her.  
"The MVA?" Penelope studied the card, squinting. Her glasses were hanging crooked, one earpiece snapped completely off. "Do we... yes, I'm fairly certain... Mum would know... oh, for a computer! Or at least my phone... well," she said firmly, "if we don't qualify as veterans of a magical war, I'll bloody well make sure we do."  
Baz tapped her on the shoulder and held his hand out for the card, pointing at the door to Simon's room.  
Penelope slumped a little. "He'll never agree to go. I've been trying to talk to him about therapy for ages, but he insists that he's fine,  
never mind that..." Baz laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Yes, you know what? Not tonight. Tonight I'm going to be worried about other things."  
Baz snorted.  
"I'm doing both sides of the dialogue, aren't I? Oh, this is so silly. Here." She murmured "dear diary" and a pink journal plopped into Baz's lap, complete with a fluffy light-up pen. "Oh I'm sorry, I must be tired."  
Baz stuck out his tongue at her unrepentant smirk and proceeded to scribble sarcastic commentary the whole night, albeit in a much more shaky hand than usual.  
\-- -  
"Penny, I'm fine-"  
"No, you're not." Elspeth, holding Lucinda/Lucas's cat because since the battle the poor thing followed them everywhere and they needed the bathroom, didn't even look up. Next to her, Martin's stiff upright posture had long since turned into a sprawl over half the sofa, and Penny's leg was bouncing agitatedly. Baz hoped she'd remembered to take her meds that morning.  
Simon whirled to face Elspeth, and Penny's whole body looked slightly less tense. "I am fine, I'm fine enough, I'm not mad or losing it or anything!"  
"So Lu and Elspeth and Penny and me, we're all mad?" Martin asked wearily. Baz coughed from his spot on the rug. "Right, you too, mate."  
Simon turned- he'd been swinging on the spot for what felt like hours to Baz. His bum was numb. "Why aren't Dev and Niall here, then? If we're all in the 'nag Simon to do things he doesn't need' club?"  
"Niall is at his aunt's in Carrick-On-Suir and Dev felt that you'd prefer your closer friends to be here," Baz said calmly. "Since, and I quote, 'he still thought we were all evil toffs serving the lord of darkness only six months ago.'"  
"Well- good! I don't need more people to convince that I'm not gone in the head!"  
"Oh," came a tiny voice from behind Simon. Lucinda propped her arms on her hips. "Well. Gone in the head, that's fun, Simon. How about mental-"  
"Lu, I'm sorry-"  
"Or crazy, or bonkers, or nutcase." Lucinda was crying. "Fuck you."  
"Lu, I didn't mean you."  
"What, like you're so fucking special? You asshole, I've been going to therapy for years, so's Penny, Dev sees his therapist every day, Martin practically founded the WF with Baz, and you can't go to therapy because you're so strong and brave, aren't you? Well, guess what, you dick, we care about you and you're not coping so just bloody- well- get- help- already!" Pink jumped into her arms and she caught him instinctively.  
"Mgh," Simon said, and before Baz could wonder what on earth it meant, Simon ran out of Elspeth and Lu's flat and slammed the door behind him.  
Penny sighed. "Oh, Lu."  
"Not sorry," Lucinda said into Green's fur. He meowled and nuzzled her neck.  
"Well, it was a perfectly understandable outburst, but who knows where he is now." Penny removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes.  
"I'll go to him," Baz offered, jumping to his feet.  
"Yes, dear, good idea. He tolerates you the most right now." Penny blinked when Elspeth pulled her hands away from her eyes. "Hmm?"  
"Did you take the Xanax today, Penny?" Elspeth asked gently.  
"Of course I did, it's just been such a tiring day."  
"Breathe with me, okay?"  
Baz left them doing breathing exercises and stepped out into the shared hall. Unlike Penny, he had a pretty good idea of where Simon was going. He'd found him there at Elspeth and Lu's housewarming, when the noise had been too much and he'd gone to find air and quiet. The little balcony, hardly more than a window with a big ledge, overlooked the back alley of the second hand store downstairs. The owner had repurposed it as a workshop, so all you could see was a tarp. It was a nice tarp, though. Clean.  
Baz found Simon, not admiring the tarp but rather crying into his hands. He was doing his best to be quiet, but once in a while a sob would escape him.  
Baz sat down next to him, careful not to block Simon's way out of the little nook. "So-"  
"If you get sappy at me, Pitch, I swear I will jump off this balcony."  
"We're three stories up. You wouldn't even crack your thick skull," Baz retorted. Banter was familiar territory, even if it wasn't the best thing to fall back on.  
There was a moment of sniffling. And then-  
"I don't need therapy."  
"Why?" Baz asked. "I genuinely want to know."  
"I'm not mentally ill, that's why," Simon said.  
"One in four people in Britain experience mental illness each year," Baz said. "And we're not talking just major schizophrenia here, it's any kind of mental illness."  
"Good for them."  
"You're also much more likely to experience mental illness if you have some sort of trigger," Baz continued. "Of course, therapy helps you deal with things like trauma and confront disturbing and difficult experiences."  
"That the speech you trot out for everyone who comes to the WF?" Simon muttered.  
"What, this old thing?" Simon lifted his head and made an unimpressed face. "Nah, this one is just for you."  
"Lucky me," Simon said.  
"Yeah, lucky you, you've got a lot of people who care about you."  
Simon shook his head. "They're too much. Sometimes I can't get past the fact that Penny doesn't need another thing to worry about. Or I think that Agatha left to get away from me."  
"You can't stop Penny from worrying. And Agatha is dealing with her own stuff right now," Baz said gently. "She didn't go all the way to Denmark to get away from you."  
"Sometimes I'm not the center of the universe, is that what you're saying?" Simon grinned crookedly.  
"I find it a comforting thought, personally," Baz said.  
Simon leaned back against the wall and leveled a challenging gaze at Baz. "I'll go if you go."  
"Deal." Baz waited until Simon shook on the deal to add, "I find the bimonthly sessions with Miss Eszes quite enlightening, myself."  
"You... already go?" Simon glared at him. "Cheat."  
"Tuesdays at three thirty, and you?"  
"Are you asking me on a therapy date, Baz?" Simon asked, all blue eyes and innocent smile, damn him.  
"Please," Baz snorted. "You're not that pretty, Snow."  
\-- -  
Except, of course, Simon was that pretty. It was a topic Baz found himself returning to again and again, even in therapy. Not Simon being pretty; Baz simply found that he spent more and more time discussing his current life, now that he was down to bimonthly sessions, and his feelings for Simon were a big part of that.  
"But we've spent half of our lives together," he said.  
"You said you spent most of those years avoiding him, even going so far as to sleep in the labyrinths," Paula pointed out. "Basil, you know how you feel. It's your choice to tell him, or not tell him, but worrying at it like a dog with a bone won't make anything better."  
Baz nodded. They'd had this discussion quite a few times. Added to the fact that their friends all kind of assumed that one day they'd snap and either make out angrily against a door or whisper sappy confessions while surrounded by bunnies, Baz felt like he was in a Les Mis AU. He just hoped it was an 'everybody lives' AU. "Let's talk about college."  
What with the turmoil of his eighth year at Watford, Baz had never really applied his mind to what he really wanted to do, and had therefore avoided applying for a university. "I sent applications to Durham and Cambridge. It's still a bit early, so I'm waiting to see if I get into ether before applying for anything else." Baz hesitated before adding, "They've both got great English programs. And they're good for Education too, so."  
Paula smiled. "That's wonderful."  
"Father disagrees," Baz said ruefully. "I think he wants me to go into business, or politics, but I'm really not interested in either."  
"It's good to do what you love," Paula said. "Sometimes people expect you to become someone you aren't."  
"Well, he can get used to disappointment," Baz said firmly. "If I have to attend one more dinner with simpering people in tight suits I'm moving to Budapest."  
"Say hi to my sister, then," Paula said drily as the timer dinged. "I'll see you in two weeks, Basil."  
"Have a nice day," Baz said.  
On the way out of the building, he bumped into Simon. Not literally, but it was a close thing, since Simon was wandering about looking quite lost and distracted.  
"Hey," Baz said, and Simon jumped. "Looking for the main office?"  
"I was just there, they sent me to Norman Patil's office and I can't find it anywhere."  
"If I had a penny for every time I had to show someone Patil's office, my trousers would fall down." Baz considered his statement. "That is, if I kept them all in my pockets."  
Simon glanced at said trousers. "How lucky for us that you don't."  
"Hey!" Baz said indignantly. "I have a rather nice bum, you know."  
"Save it. I've seen you in various states of undress, and I don't need to hear your ridiculous propaganda."  
"It's not like I try to convert people with it," Baz said, and Simon snickered.  
"Well, look what you did to Penny. She saw you naked once and now she's gay."  
"Here's your nasty office, you mean, terrible person," Baz said. "I hope you enjoy your evilness."  
"I learned from the best," Simon called after him, and Baz flipped him the bird.  
\-- -  
Therapy takes time. It takes repetition, and getting to feel comfortable with sharing your emotions, and learning not to be embarrassed by your own thoughts. We often think that our feelings are not valid, or dire enough, and that we don't need help. Everyone feels bad. Everyone is afraid. Everyone gets nervous.  
Which is a crock of bull, of course, because although plenty of people experience these emotions, some of them benefit from talking about it with sympathetic nonjudgemental persons. Just like plenty of people get headaches, but some of them need prescription medication and a few hours alone in a dark room with a glass of water.  
So, while Dev spent the day in bed wincing at whispers, Baz watched over him (from the living room) and Simon kept him company, they talked about therapy. Well, whispered about therapy.  
"It's hard," Simon said. It was far from profound, and not very revealing, but it was true nonetheless, and Baz felt his heart expand. Although it may have been a stomachache from Dev's leftover takeout.  
"You saved the world eight times at least," Baz pointed out. "And you were really stupid back then. You can totally do this."  
"So you're saying I'm really smart now?"  
"I'm saying you're still thick as a barrel of lard and ugly as Dev's horrible couch, but look how far you've come."  
Simon looked at the lumpy orange monstrosity he was perched on. "It is an ugly couch. Why don't you or Niall make him throw it out?"  
Baz shrugged. "Apparently, it has sentimental worth. Memories."  
"What kind of memories...?"  
"Don't worry, we made him swear that he'd never had sex on it." Baz shrugged. "Kind of a no brainer. I mean, he's ace."  
"Okay."  
They sat in silence, Simon leafing through Douglas Adams and Baz staring at his sketchbook, wondering why the hell their conversations turned into awkwardly sexual flirting. If only he could muster the courage to ask Simon out.  
"Hey, Baz." Simon put "So Long, and Thanks For All The Fish" aside. "Do you- um, can I ask you something?"  
"Yeah..."  
"Do you want to go out with me?" Simon asked.  
Baz dropped his pencil.  
"On a date," Simon added. "Romantically. Possibly sexually in the future."  
"You really know how to make a man feel wanted, huh?" Baz said drily.  
"Is that a yes? I can't hear over your blatant procrastination."  
"I don't know, I tend to go for different types. Nice, smart, attractive people."  
"High standards for someone like you."  
"I'll date you," Baz said, holding up a finger, "if you date me first."  
"Deal." They shook hands, and Simon said, "Ha ha, loser, you're already dating me."  
"When we leave," Baz said, trying to keep a straight face but completely failing, "I'm going to make you scream for mercy, you insolent fool."  
"Looking forward to it," Simon said.  
\-- -  
And when small things, or big things, or medium sized things happened, articles in the paper or assholes in the street, most of the time Simon could call Hamid (Norman hadn't fit). It helped, a little or a lot.  
\-- -  
"Make a list," Paula had told him during one of their first sessions, when he felt as if everything was bigger than him, the old fear returning that he would lose himself.  
So Baz made a list:

Things that help Simon calm the fuck down (the swearing helped. It made it feel a little less serious.)  
1\. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genderfluid Lucinda/Lucas belongs to the ever gracious magicalmaladies. Thank you, and no, we're still not married. Slow down. Although if we were, all our headcanons would be shared property...  
> Chapter title from "I Wanna Get Better" by The Bleachers. Go on, scream the chorus out of a car. You know you want to.


	2. I feel your taste (all the time we're apart)

If you've ever woken up from a peaceful slumber after a night of what can only be described, for the sake of rating and the writer's self-respect, as energetic sexual intercourse, only to discover that the person or persons you indulged in said intercourse with have left the premises and your bed is once more a painful reminder of your solitude and less-than-rigorous laundry routine, you know what it feels like. The sinking feeling as you once again realize that, since you used a condom, your erstwhile partner has most definitely not left you anything to remember them by, not even a phone number, is unique.  
Quite different is the feeling you get when you wake up in the middle of the night to find that your bed is empty and cold, even though it was full of your sleeping, clingy boyfriend when you fell asleep. Baz's brain was already going through the 'I hope he bloody well doesn't talk about this at breakfast' that had accompanied his scholastic nighttime escapades (or at least the ones that involved neither Simon nor blood nor evil forces of doom) when he realized that he was no longer in high school. The lovely happy feeling of no longer having to do Advanced Martial Magicks homework faded pretty quickly, however. If the bed was cold, Baz reasoned, Simon must have left it a while ago, without waking him up. This was worrying.  
Baz got out of bed, navigating the piles of clothing on the floor with care. (He and Simon had not, in fact, had sex. "Take it slow," his heart said. "Do him already!" his libido said. "Your flatmates are home and will blackmail you forever if they hear you screwing," his brain said, and won.) He opened the bedroom door with a wince at the hinges that squeaked no matter how much oil or magic you applied, and cast a quick look around. Dev's door was shut, and so was Niall's. The flat was as dark as a flat in London could get.  
Apart from the light peeking out from under the kitchen door. Baz crept down the corridor and eased the kitchen door open, to encounter the sight of his boyfriend curled up on the floor next to the tinned food cupboard with a cup of tea. (Everything Baz, Dev and Niall actually used was in the floor cupboards, since the upper ones were out of Niall's reach and he absolutely refused to "get up on a stool every time I want a cuppa".)  
"Simon?" Baz whispered. Just to make sure. It really was quite late.  
"Mmm?" Simon's head jerked up and he blinked blearily. "Hi."  
"Hi," Baz said, smiling. He sat down on the tile next to Simon. "You know you can use the chairs, right? The floor's freezing cold."  
"I wanted to sit here." Simon gazed into his tea as if he could see the secrets of the universe, even though he had used a teabag (chamomile) and hadn't taken sixth year Scrying. "I know it's weird."  
"What did we say about the 'w' word?"  
Simon sighed. "We only use it about strange coincidental quirks in life and not about ourselves because we are magicians and one of us is a prophesied hero and the other one is a vampire."  
"Huh." Baz frowned thoughtfully. "Is that what we say?"  
"You keep changing it, don't you," Simon muttered. "That's the latest one."  
"How drunk was I?"  
Simon held up thumb and forefinger and squinted. "About... this much?" He spread his fingers apart as far as they could go.  
"Was that when my dad called?"  
"I think so. Dev called and said he wasn't dealing with you alone and he definitely wasn't dealing with you sober."  
"True friendship." Baz leaned his head on Simon's shoulder. "Simon, why are you sitting here in the middle of the night?"  
Simon's eye-roll was practically audible. "Because I don't like your kitchen furniture?"  
"Fuck off, it's Ikea, it's classy," Baz retorted. "But seriously."  
"Um."  
"Did you have a panic attack?" Baz asked. "You know you can wake me up for those."  
"I didn't have a panic attack." Simon put down his mug and Baz took his hand. It was cold and clammy, and Baz wondered how long he'd sat there. "It was a nightmare."  
"You can wake me up for those too. Crowley, you can wake me up if you've had an epiphany about melons. You can wake me for anything."  
"It was... embarrassing," Simon said reluctantly.  
"Promise not to laugh at you," Baz said.  
"That would make life so boring," Simon said. He squeezed Baz's hand. "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"  
"Okay," Baz said, worried.  
"Oh Augustus," Simon murmured.  
"Wha- oh shut up."  
\-- -  
"Have you eaten anything?" Penny asked. "You look a little... transparent."  
"I had breakfast," Baz muttered. He glared at the gum spotted sidewalk. The sun was really bright, and he might not be Dracula but he still had skin like some kind of lily-brained princess.  
"It's two in the afternoon," Simon said. "Baz-"  
"I had lunch too, okay?" Baz snapped. "I had tea and toast at seven in the morning and an apple at ten in the morning and a sandwich at one and Marnie left biscuits in the break room so I had a few. I had food."  
Penny raised her eyebrows. "That's quite a detailed menu, there."  
"Simon insists on knowing what I eat every day." The bus was late, wasn't it? He'd miss the interview at Durham. "Can't we just take a cab?"  
"Don't be silly, the bus'll be here in no time," Penny said absently.  
"I'll go with you to the farmer's market tomorrow, Baz," Simon said quietly. "Vlad's always there on Thursdays."  
"Vlad?" Penny asked.  
"He sells blood and blood by-products," Simon said.  
"And yes, he does think the name's a joke," Baz grumbled.  
"Baz is just sensitive about vampires and names because his name's so bloody awful."  
"Says the bloke who's initials are S.O.S.-"  
"Don't make me regret accompanying you," Penny warned. She took a deep breath and pinched her nose. "I swear to Morgana, it's like you're angsty horny teenagers again."  
The arrival of the bus saved everyone from the reply, but as they boarded the bus Simon shoved a sandwich into Baz's hand. "Black pudding," he murmured.  
Baz kissed him on the cheek and unwrapped the rather squished sandwich.  
\-- -  
Simon's flat was the only one in their little group that wasn't shared. It was tiny and sunny, on the rare days that there was sun, and furnished with the kind of thrift-store chic that Penny's college dorm displayed, except unlike Penny's dorm room, Simon's had little sketches Blu-Tac'ed all over the walls. It would've been a mess, except Simon had invested in little pasteboard frames. The overall effect was, in fact, very pretty, and also of someone who liked Baz's art very much. Baz would be the first to admit that he wasn't very good, but Simon didn't seem to care.  
"What is this even supposed to be?" Baz asked. "It's this lopsided vase thing."  
"If it's the one next to the bookshelf it's of the artsy pot Els bought at the market." Simon was in the kitchen.  
"Was it really that crooked in real life? Cause this is a mess."  
"Hey, don't insult that drawing, I like it."  
"It's ugly."  
"Yeah, well, so're you, and I let you get into my trousers."  
"You obviously have the wort taste."  
Simon poked his head out of the kitchen. "You realize you just insulted yourself, right?"  
Baz shrugged. "You win some, you lose some."  
"You lose constantly."  
"Yeah, like my boyfriend. He's this little shit who hides in the kitchen instead of spending time with me."  
"He sounds great. Can you introduce us?"  
"See, I knew you were in love with yourself, but that's taking it too far."  
"It's called masturbating, Baz, I know you know what it means because we lived together eight years. The number of times I heard you jerking off, you don't even want to know."  
"Maybe I do, huh?" Baz realized his leer was going entirely unappreciated and crossed the living room to enter the kitchen. It was a tight fit, since the kitchen wasn't much bigger than anything else in the flat and Simon hadn't been little since the growth spurt in fourth grade. It didn't help that all the cupboards were open. Baz remedied the lack of space by wrapping his arms around Simon's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. "What are you doing?"  
"Shopping list."  
Baz looked around the kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with the amount of food it'd take him, Dev and Niall a week to get through. "What's on it?"  
"Food?" Simon's tone implied that he'd expected more of Baz than becoming Captain Obvious's new sidekick.  
Baz was about to say something sarcastic about the lack of space and maybe mention Simon's lack of cooking abilities when Simon opened the freezer to frown at the completely full interior. It was mostly containers of dark red blood.  
Baz swallowed his misgivings and kissed Simon's cheek. It was an awkward position, but Simon turned around and kissed Baz on the mouth.  
Simon broke away after a few minutes, smiling and panting. "In a minute, okay?"  
"Sure," Baz said, and pushed the nagging voice in his head into the back of his mind.  
\-- -  
The supermarket was endless. Baz usually went to little local places, but it was for Simon's birthday party and they were buying in bulk. Even mostly empty, the wire trolley was difficult to maneuver. It had run over Baz's foot twice and Penny had caught her fingers in the wire. Only Martin had escaped without injury.  
"What about-"  
"No, he doesn't like Cheetos."  
"Maybe-"  
"No food coloring." Baz grinned. "Unless it's jelly sweets."  
"What about..." Penny squinted at a bag of something unidentified, with a creepy smiling baby on it. "Never mind."  
"It's enough, Pen." Martin pushed the trolley down the aisle at a brisk pace, as if eager to escape the snack aisle. "We've got enough crisps and things. Let's do the actual food before I go mad."  
Martin nearly tore his hair out when they reached the beverage aisle. "They're all the same! Just get one type!"  
"You volunteered for this," Penny reminded him. "Are you sure Simon won't drink any of this, Baz?"  
"He used to all the time at Watford, but now he won't touch anything that has bubbles in it." Baz stared helplessly at the bright logos all around him. "Not that I blame him."  
"Come on, we'll all end up drinking beer anyway," Martin said, moving ahead so that they had no option but to run after him. "Lu's bringing the beer, case closed."  
The rest was easier, although when asked about Simon's favorite foods Baz found himself repeatedly answering with "I don't know". Simon ate everything he cooked, and when left alone...  
"What do you mean, mostly sandwiches?" Martin asked. He kept his voice down, so Penny, talking to the butcher, wouldn't hear him. When Baz shrugged, doing his best not to show how truly worried he felt, Martin said, "Everyone learns how to cook. If they don't, they do take out."  
"I know," Baz said. "Have you seen his kitchen cupboards? It's like he's stocking for the apocalypse."  
"My gran was in the Holocaust," Martin said abruptly.  
"What? I didn't know," Baz said. "I'm sorry."  
"I didn't tell you, did I? It's all right. I told you because- well, my gran, she hoards food. I mean, her fridge is always full, and her cupboards, and she's always got five different kinds of cereal. When I was a kid it was great, you know? Ten different kinds of cookies. But she never throws away bread, even if it's old and stale, and she has stuff she never eats. Asked my dad once, and he said that it makes her feel safe. So she always has food, no matter what."  
Baz nodded. "You think that's it with Simon?"  
"Well, he didn't starve in the war, that's for sure." Martin shrugged. "I'm just saying, he probably has his reasons. You should talk to him. Don't worry, I'll keep quiet."  
"Thanks," Baz managed.  
"Anytime, mate. Here, Pen, let us help, you'll drop the sausages." Martin ran forward to take some of the packages of meat from Penny.  
"Never had any use for them," Penny said tartly, making them both laugh.  
\-- -  
Easter had always been a big event at the Pitch household. All of Baz's little cousins and various kiddie relations and his father's friends' children combined into a force that ransacked the house and grounds in search of eggs. He'd always enjoyed it, whether he was one of the competitors or old enough to hide the eggs. Except he hadn't gone home for Christmas this year. He'd distanced himself from his father, ashamed of his part in strengthening the Humdrum even as he worked with Paula on coming to terms with how he'd been manipulated and strong-armed into it.  
Easter, however... not many people knew of his involvement in the Humdrum's plan. He'd been secretive back then, and had managed to avoid the press almost completely after the battle at Watford. When he had appeared in the news, he'd been just another member of Simon's little troop of heroes. He missed his family, and the fun and silliness of Easter were very different from the quiet, private Christmas he had always had with his father.  
He'd already told his father he was bringing someone over for Easter. The phone call had been intensely polite, but Baz knew his father. He could recognize joy in his voice.  
All he had to do was convince Simon.  
"Do you want to come to Easter with me?" he asked, over preparations for bed at Simon's.  
"Pretty sure Easter happens everywhere," Simon said. His teasing grin dropped when he finished drying his face saw Baz's tense expression. "Oh. You mean, with you with you. Like, with your family?"  
"Yeah. It's a big event. Lots of kids running around with sugar highs." Baz rubbed his neck. "I mean, it's kind of a big step. It's not like meeting just my dad. I was planning on going a few days before so he could meet you properly. Um. But you don't have to."  
"Does your dad know you're...?" Simon said slowly.  
"He knows I'm bi. And he knows I'm dating a man and bringing him over. I don't think he knows it's you. I was kind of obvious in school, though. I talked about you a lot." Baz could feel his cheeks beginning to heat.  
"I'll come," Simon said. "I can handle noise. I like kids."  
"You do." Baz sat down on the toilet. "Of course you do."  
"Um, yes? I always liked them at the orphanage." Simon ran a hand through his damp hair. "I hope your father likes me, though."  
"Please," Baz said. "You're like King Arthur in jeans. Of course he'll like you."  
"Arthur's a prat," Simon said, in a bad imitation of Colin Morgan's accent.  
"I am never letting Elspeth show either of us a show ever again," Baz said. "Her weird thing with fantasy shows is contagious."  
"You watch Doctor Who," Simo pointed out.  
"That's different, Matt Smith is a gift." Baz let Simon pull him upright and out of the bathroom.  
"Easter's in two weeks, right?" Baz nodded. "When did you tell your dad we were coming?"  
Baz smiled at the 'we'. "I told him Thursday or Friday."  
"Are there even trains on Friday before Easter?"  
"Lucas said he'd loan us his car."  
"Won't he need it? He drives that thing everywhere."  
"He offered."  
"So, if we leave in the morning..."  
"Traffic on Good Friday is horrible."  
"Early, then."  
Baz shrugged. "I'll drive in the early hours if you take the traffic."  
\-- -  
It isn't surprising, really, when Baz wakes up to find that his bed is empty and cold. It feels a little illicit sneaking out of his room, however. The house is full of people, all asleep at this hour. Finding Simon in the cavernous Pitch family home would be much more complicated than spotting the lights in the kitchen.  
Maybe not. Baz thought back to the tour he'd given Simon of the house and set off towards the first floor the house.  
\-- -  
The servants' wing at the Pitch family home was confusing; for anyone not experienced with the layout, it was easy to miss the kitchen and turn straight into the pantry. Usually it was stocked according to the small amount of people who lived there, but now it held enough food to feed the entirety of the enormous Pitch family and his father's friends. Simon sat in the corner, an erratic glow emerging from his wand. He jumped and yelped when Baz shined the electric torch he'd found in his bedside table on him (it was one of those kinetic energy ones).  
"Hey," Baz said, and joined Simon on the floor.  
"Hi," Simon said.  
"Long day, huh."  
"Baz..." Simon rubbed his eyes. "I know this is weird. Odd! Odd, not weird."  
"You can say weird if you want," Baz said. "I think it's okay."  
"It's not. It's, it's fucked up. And weird. What kind of person feels safer in a pantry than in their boyfriend's bed?" Simon spat.  
"Hey, hey, hold up. Okay, it's unusual. The food thing. You always have a lot of food at home, like grocery store quantities, even though you subside on baloney sandwiches and apples, and you won't eat really specific things, and you're always worried about me and food, which is actually kind of sensible if you consider I drink blood, so forget about that one. Wait, no, don't forget that one. You always need to know exactly what I ate. And there's the getting up in the middle of the night to sit in the kitchen, so yeah." Baz glanced at Simon's face, which was twisted up as if he was trying very hard not to cry. "No, Simon, I'm sorry, it's okay, we'll figure it out!"  
"You just summed it up," Simon managed. He sniffed and coughed, wiping his eyes.  
"It's easier if you look at it from the outside."  
"I talked about it. With Hamid, I mean," Simon said.  
"You did?"  
"Yeah. I didn't want to worry you."  
Baz shook his head. "Of course I'm worried about you."  
"It's a safety thing? Like control or something. Hamid said kids who didn't have enough food get it."  
Baz blinked. "We always had lots of food at Watford."  
"The orphanage, Baz," Simon said patiently. "And at Watford I had food at mealtimes, but that's it. I didn't have pocket money to get snacks, and I missed meals a lot sneaking around being heroic." Simon clenched his fists. "I can't help it. I just get scared, and I need to know I can get food if I need it."  
"It's all right," Baz said quietly.  
"No, it's not. It's a disorder-"  
"So is Penny's anxiety," Baz said. "And you know what? No one cares, apart from helping her deal with it and reminding her to take her meds. If you need half the grocery store in your kitchen, that's fine. If you need me and everyone else to do or not do things or anything, just say so. I will get up every night and sit in the kitchen and stare at the crackers if you need me to."  
"That's." Simon gulped. "That's really nice of you."  
"Lies. I'm a horrible monster." Baz looked around the pantry. He wasn't sure if it would help Simon o make it worse, but he asked anyways. "Want some cake? There's probably a lot left in the fridge."  
Simon frowned. "There's a fridge?"  
"In the kitchen," Baz said, getting up and offering Simon a hand. His bum had gone numb.  
"I couldn't find it..." Simon grabbed the torch.  
"Yeah," Baz said. "It's kind of complicated in here."  
\-- -  
Things that help Simon calm the fuck down  
1\. Therapy  
2\. Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Savoy Truffle" by the Beatles. And yes, I did change the title. I have a problem.   
> Okay, so I THOUGHT I could make ao3 post things at a later date, but apparently not. Blah.


End file.
